Rescue
by steelcrash
Summary: Autobots on their way to Earth deal with the problems among themselves and the issues brought about by the survivors they find. Companion piece to "Temerity" and "Consequences." 2007 movie universe.


Rescue

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. They belong to Hasbro and Takara. I am merely taking them for a short spin.

The sealing ring on the cooling conduit wouldn't give. A few swear words in Cybertronian were swiftly replaced by the sound of a wrench being slammed repeatedly against the conduit.

"Fraggin' piece of slag. . ."

The Autobot suddenly found his right arm in a death grip as a hand shot out from around him, stopping him from inflicting further damage to the conduit.

"Tracks, that ain't gonna solve anything," Blaster said.

"The Pit it won't," Tracks said. "Makes me feel better. If this whole fraggin' ship blew up right now with me on it, I really wouldn't care."

Blaster frowned. "I know you don't mean that," he said.

"Don't I?" Tracks said, pulling his arm away from Blaster. "You're not going to have to be the one who has to explain everything when we make planet fall. . ."

"You're not alone in this," Blaster said.

"No, but I'm in charge," Tracks said, turning back to his work.

Blaster stepped away, started to walk down the corridor. He didn't get far when he stopped, looked back over his shoulder, giving Tracks one last look before continuing on his way to the ship's command center. He shook his head sadly, kept going.

Tracks felt Blaster's gaze lingering but he didn't say anything. He knew the communications expert thought he was losing his grip. Maybe he was, but with so much responsibility on his shoulders, it sometimes felt like it, and never more so than the past few days.

The Vindicator wasn't quite on its last legs, but almost. They were lucky to pick up the distress call, as faint as it was. Tracks had been ousted from his berth by Blaster, who had actually come down to his quarters to get him. It was so he wouldn't raise suspicion among the others. Sure, yeah, whatever.

The panic and fear in Blaster's optics as he told him over his internal comm who the signal was from nearly brought him to his knees.

It was a small incident compared to being roused from stasis from Optimus Prime's message, but disturbing nonetheless, especially when Blaster started talking about ghosts, earning himself a good smack to the head.

No, the distress signal wasn't from ghosts, but mechs who might as well have been. They'd detoured from their course to Earth, deciding it was worth checking out, just in case it wasn't a sensor. . .ghost, or just a signal beacon.

Good thing they had detoured--they'd found survivors from the Vector. Not all of them, but Blurr, Hound, Mirage and Red Alert, all in their cometary forms, all sporting damage.

Blurr still wasn't talking to anyone, not good, but he was now helping out around the ship. Mirage was still half-mad with grief over Hound's condition, but they'd finally managed to get his attention, snapped him out of it a little. Red Alert, on the other hand, was retreating further and further inside himself, spending most of his time in recharge, curled on one of the berths in the med bay. Even Inferno had given up trying to talk to him.

Energon and decent recharge seemed to be helping Blurr and Mirage, but when asked about how they happened to end up in the condition they were in, Blurr simply left the room and Mirage clammed up, staring at the floor. Hound was still in stasis lock, but at least they could monitor his condition in the med bay.

Tracks gave the uncooperative conduit another satisfying whack. The med bay. Another problem. They didn't have a trained medic on board, and none of them were equipped to deal with the trauma their friends were going through.

Yet another problem was tension among the crew (if it could be called that)--Scattershot was generally driving him insane, Roadbuster kept wanting to use Scattershot to align the ship's ailing targeting systems and by the Allspark if Knockout and Sandstorm so much as mentioned going to look for Arcee again, he would kill them both, preferably with the wrench in his hand.

Arcee, as far as Tracks was concerned, was the only one of them that had any sense--she'd gotten so tired of her cohorts antics since coming out of stasis she was avoiding them all.

Not that he could blame her. They all wanted off the Vindicator, and the sooner, the better. It had seen better days but had been undergoing a refit to have the Ark-class AI installed before Tyger Pax. However, the refit hadn't been finished, the AI was onboard but dormant because none of them had the ability to uplink with the ship to force it online. Blaster could link up with the main computer, could do routine maintenance on the systems but anything beyond that was impossible.

And thinks kept getting better and better. Since picking up the Vector's crew, he'd been trying to figure out how to get them to talk, and to learn the fates of Ultra Magnus, Hot Rod and Cosmos.

An even bigger problem was the knowledge they were being followed--hunted actually. They'd picked up a short burst of Decepticon communications two days before, but nothing since. They could fight, if necessary, but so far, they'd been lucky.

Then there were his own disagreements with Blaster. He kept talking about separating the ship to lose unnecessary weight and get them to Earth sooner, but it would mean losing the ship's cloak and the med bay. That particular old argument had been what snapped Mirage out of his lethargy--he'd threatened to kill Tracks if they even mentioned it again. Not Blaster, who suggested it, but him. Because he, Tracks, was in charge. Speaking of killing anyone, if he ever found out who nominated him for the position of leader. . .

Tracks pushed it from his mind. He was tired, beyond tired actually. He set down the wrench, not caring. It would be there later. He vented air, sighing, making his way down the corridor. He'd been this way so many times he could probably make his way to this particular door without his optics or other sensors. He keyed in the code, entered.

He saw Blaster sit up on his berth.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Tracks said. "Scoot over."

Blaster did as told, waited for Tracks to settle in next to him. Satisfied, Tracks threw an arm over Blaster and pulled him close. Despite their differences, they still had each other.

-----

Blurr sat at the navigation console, silent. His thoughts were racing, as usual. He hadn't spoken out loud since they'd been picked up by the Vindicator and her crew. He didn't mind the night watch--it allowed him to be alone. Uncharacteristic, but currently necessary. If he spent time with more than a few bots a time he felt jumpy. Paranoid. Not like himself at all.

He knew the Vector's crew had been sold out. Hound's condition, Cosmos' absence, his injuries, it all made him angry. They'd known what their mission was because Magnus had filled them in. Even though Blurr didn't agree with the method, he knew it was necessary. They'd volunteered, so there was no one but themselves to blame. Except no one had told them about the Decepticon abomination they'd encountered. The thing was called Menasaur. One of the reasons why he wasn't talking. Because he wouldn't talk about what they'd seen, what had happened.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Blurr looked up. It was Mirage. He held out a container of energon.

:Here. You look like you could use this:

:ThanksIreallycouldanditsgoodtoseeyoureoutandabouthowsHoundishebetter. . .:

:SLOW DOWN: Mirage said, sitting down at the station by Blurr. :Would it kill you to talk out loud?:

:Don't want to talk out loud. Feels weird after all that time out there: Blurr said.

:I know. But at least we're alive, and we stand a chance now. And to answer your question, some of Hound's automatic repair systems are finally starting to kick in. Blaster figured out how to make the computer listen, so it's jumpstarted Hound, although none of us know how long it will be before he comes out of stasis lock:

:But he will right?:

:He should:

:He will: Blurr said with more optimism than he felt. He met Mirage's optics, and the spy was smiling back at him. Tentative, and full of hope.

:Then I can kick his aft for scaring me like this. Blurr, I really thought this was it. When we first onlined after they picked us up. . .I couldn't feel Hound. I thought he was gone. But when I calmed down, I realized he's still there. Faint, but still there:

Mirage shuddered at the memory, and Blurr reached out, placing a hand on Mirage's shoulder. Waking up, frantic and panicked, not knowing where he was, and worst of all, he couldn't feel Hound, then he saw him laying on the med bay berth, realizing they were safe. And through his bond with the scout, Mirage could still feel Hound's presence, but nothing would rouse him. That was when he knew he was in stasis lock.

:But like you said he's going to be OK and we're safe for the moment and oh slag. . .:

:What?: Mirage asked.

:Just thinking:

:About?:

:Nothing: Blurr said.

Mirage let it slide. :I'm going to go check on Hound and Red. I'll be back up later:

Blurr nodded, turning back to his station. Nothing. Sure. He missed his friends, missed home, wanted to be off the ship to run free and race. He offlined his optics for a few seconds, trying to focus. Onlined them, took a sip of energon, got back down to the business of plotting possible courses to Earth while anticipating possible Decepticon incursions along the way.

What would happen would happen, Blurr knew. And he was just along for the ride.


End file.
